Blame
by LaureLalaith
Summary: The Fellowship has escaped Moria, but can Pippin escape his own grief?


Disclaimer: blah, blah, blah, don't own anything, blah, blah, blah  
  
"Fool of a Took!"  
  
Gandalf's words echoed loudly in young Pippin's head. The company had stopped just outside the gates of Moria, unable to continue in their sorrow. "I have caused this", the distraught hobbit thought, "I killed Gandalf!" His tears flowed freely as he looked at the aftermath of what he had done; Gimli's silent grief, Legolas' stunned and confused sadness, Aragorn's anguish, and most of all the tears streaming down the faces of his kindred.  
  
"Gimli, Legolas, get them up!"  
  
Pippin stifled a sob as he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. Silently he trudged toward Lothlorien, half formed thoughts chased themselves through his mind. The skeleton on the well.the banging and crashing.the orks.the troll.the balrog.the bridge.Before he knew it, Pippin found himself on his face in a small stream. He sputtered and blinked the cool water out of his eyes as they widened in amazement. Before him stood Lothlorien, a vast forest like none he had seen before. The trees seemed to reach the clouds as he strained his neck to see the tops. His reverie was interrupted as he was hauled from the stream by a rough and callous hand. He craned his neck and looked into Aragorn's eyes, but what he discerned in their depths was not at all comforting. Pain, fear, grief and worry were all mingled in his chocolate-brown orbs, but Pippin thought he saw something else there too; a shadow of anger. Pippin knew the company blamed him for Gandalf's death, for waking the balrog and putting their entire quest in jeopardy. "I do not deserve to live." He thought to himself, "I should be the one dead, not Gandalf. I am not worthy of this life!"  
  
*** "Eight there are here, but nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."  
  
Dimly, Pippin was aware of the words the Lady and Lord of the Wood spoke. He had been walking blindfolded for over an hour, yet the journey passed in a haze. His grief and guilt was so great that he was no longer aware of what was happening, nor did he care.  
  
"Go now, and rest, for you are weary with toil and much sorrow. Tonight you shall sleep in peace."  
  
"Sorrow," thought Pippin, "sorrow I have caused." He allowed himself to be steered to a clearing, where the fellowship was to rest. The hobbits lay down, exhausted from their trials, but sleep did not come easily for all. Sam's snores were repeatedly punctured by Frodo's dry sobs, and Pippin felt a stab of guilt as he listened to his friend mourn. Soon, despite his sorrow, sleep overtook him and he slipped into an uncomfortable dream.  
  
*The skeleton perched precariously on the edge of the well. The inviting mystery was just too much, he had to touch it. The bare bones tottered unsteadily on the stone ledge before plunging into darkness. The noise was deafening. Every crash brought on a cringe. The echo lasted long after the noise had stopped, and then suddenly from the deep came the steady beet of the drums. doom.doom. The noise was deafening, but it was nothing to the pounding of Pippins racing heart. doom.doom.doom. As the pace quickened, so did his pulse. Suddenly the fellowship was immersed in a full blown battle. Screaming orks poured into the room and met their fate by the swords, bows and frying pans of his companions, but Pippin could do nothing. He was unable to move, pinned to the spot as if his legs were led. As soon as the battle had begun, it was over. Before he knew what was happening, they were flying along the great hall of the dwarrowdelf. Insect- like orks were closing in on every side, but they were quickly scattered by the awful grating roar of some fell beast. "This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" Gandalf's words echoed in the great cavern as they began their flight. Down one set of stairs after another they ran, jumping crevices and narrowly avoiding large chunks of stone that fell as the walls and ceilings collapsed. They were at the bridge. Pippin could see Gandalf standing to face the Balrog. "You shall not pass!" he roared as the bridge crumbled and the Balrog fell into the endless abyss. Before Pippin knew what was happening a flaming whip twisted up out of the darkness and wrapped itself around Gandalf's leg. He yelled, but this time it was not the command to fly. "Pippin, you fool! This is your fault!" Gandalf gave a final accusatory glare before he was swallowed by the darkness.*  
  
"NO!" Pippin awoke with a strangled cry, to find Legolas, Aragorn and the hobbits hovering over him concernedly. In his madness, however, he mistook their concern for blame, and before they could say anything to comfort him, he was gone. He ran with amazing speed for a hobbit, and before any of his shocked companions could give chase he was gone, lost in the thick trees of the forest. Pippin ran blindly, tears streaming down his face, not caring for the brush that tore at his clothes and skin, one thought running through his mind; "I killed him!" He didn't know how long he had been running, but he soon found himself at the brink of a large precipice, a small river rushing swiftly below. "I should end it." He thought desperately. "I should kill myself now before I cause anyone else harm!" He took a one long final glance down, before he backed up to get a running start. "End it now! A small voice inside him screamed. Do it! What are you waiting for? Die!" He started to run, but as he reached the edge, he skidded to a halt. Collapsing on the edge of the cliff, Pippin sobbed uncontrollably.  
  
"I can take my friends life, but I am too cowardly to take my own." He wailed. Disgusted with himself, he pulled out the sword that Aragorn had given him back at Weathertop. "Cold steel is more inviting than a long drop." He reasoned, and before he could stop himself, madness overtook him and he raised the blade.  
Slowly, painfully, meticulously he carved the words into his flesh. My fault. My fault. My fault. He paused to reflect upon his work. The harsh red of blood against his rapidly paling skin sickened him. With a final cry of grief and anguish that reverberated through the forest, he raised the blade and brought it swiftly into his heart. He collapsed as the last vestiges of life drained from his lithe form, and with a final sharp breath, he died, still believing he had killed Gandalf. 


End file.
